Socrates Jones: Pro Philosopher Loops
by Calvinball
Summary: Pro Philosopher Socrates Jones knows that he's started mysteriously repeating his life, but he isn't especially fond of it. Time travel abuse and adventures across the universe? No thanks! This accountant would rather live a quiet life of mathematics and philosophy. Part of the Infinite Loops fanfiction project, as found on the Spacebattles forums. T rating may be overdoing it.
1. Chapter 1

1.1

 **(Think Your Way out of This One!)**

For the first time, Socrates Jones was truly grateful that he had hit that deer and died, sending him to the Intelligible Realm. Having already seen the afterlife firsthand made it a little easier for him to conclude that something supernatural was happening when he woke up on the morning of that accident for a second time and that he _wasn't_ crazy.

Of course, while he had a suspicion something supernatural was happening, he had no idea what it meant and had no idea what the "something supernatural" actually _was._ What Socrates _did_ know, though, was that he wasn't about to crash into any deer today.

So the second he opened his door and saw Billy toting his deer repellent, Socrates cut him off without letting the man get a single word in.

"I'll buy your entire stock," he said, somewhat miffed but a little relieved.

"But..." Billy was stunned. "You didn't even let me tell you what I'm sellin'!"

...

"Dad, I can't believe you bought something as stupid as _deer repellent_!" In the car on the way to school, Ariadne was really ripping into him. Luckily, he was her father, and this wasn't the first time she'd gotten upset with him. "We live in New York City, Dad! There ARE no deer!"

"Call it a bad feeling, Ari," Socrates said as he went ahead a sprayed some of the deer repellent out the window. Ari merely sighed in defeat.

Socrates glanced around when he stopped at a light and smiled. No sign of any deer _this_ time. Socrates was _not_ about to up and die a second time, nosiree -

"DAD, LOOK OUT, AN ELK!"

...

"YOU'VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!"

He'd woken up in the Intelligible Realm _again.  
_

Socrates's original plan had been to play along and just deal with the whole thing the way he did the first time. Learn about the Arbiter's Wager, debate Euthyphro, Protagoras, Hobbes, Mills, and Kant, make a slip of the tongue about how morality was impossible to find, debate the Arbiter, win, go home. But after seeing Ari tear up when she thought he was going to stay dead while she went back home...

"There is, in actuality, a way out," the Arbiter said, stroking his beard. "An ancient wager, set down by the original arbiter, and reserved for the best of thinkers. After talking with your daughter, I have decided to offer you a chance at this challenge -"

"It is impossible to find morality, just because there are infinite options doesn't mean the right answer is among them (after all there are infinite numbers between one and zero and none of them are two), the original Arbiter was sentient not omniscient and so could've been wrong, and just because we don't have a perfect answer doesn't mean philosophy doesn't improve our lives," Socrates rattled off the list of points made in the original debate. He didn't want to put Ari through any more heartache than necessary, and if that meant taking advantage of his status as a time traveler and, furthermore, outing himself as one, so be it.

"Dad, what are you doing?!" Ari, of course, didn't know what he was thinking and was naturally shocked. "You don't know _anything_ about philosophy! You can't just rush in and say something dumb about philosophy and hope it works -" She fell quiet and her expression turned thoughtful. "Wait... how'd you know what the wager was about?"

"Well, Socrates," the Arbiter spoke up at last, having been silent for some time after Socrates's interjection. "I'll admit to being impressed. However, I was under the impression that you were an accountant, not a psychic."

"Well, about that!" Socrates said, laughing nervously. "There's actually something I'd like to ask you."

...

"Interesting..." To the Arbiter's credit, he hardly reacted when Socrates explained himself to him. It had been a weird conversation, and the Arbiter's demonic appearance didn't make it feel any more normal, but Socrates had managed to explain himself as well as he could. At the moment Ari was off fangirling over John Stuart Mill (And Socrates was still bothered by it. _He's centuries older than you, Ari!_ ), so he was able to have the conversation with the Arbiter privately, though he'd explain everything to Ari later, anyway. "So only a few years after you left the Intelligible Realm, time reset to the day of your accident."

"Yeah, pretty much," Socrates said. "We got better, lived for awhile, and then... poof. I'm back here and no one else remembers."

"Well, I must apologize to not knowing any more about the matter than you, Great Thinker Socrates," the Arbiter said with a sort of shrug. "It seems that you are alone in this, for the time being."

"Wait, you believe me?!" Socrates said, pleasantly surprised. "I mean, I know you're the arbiter of an afterlife, but I was still kind of worried that you'd think it was all a bit... much."

"While I had my doubts initially," the Arbiter said. "Close analysis of your person reveals a quality that I can only call metaphysically anomalous. Along with your prescience, it is evidence that you are telling the truth. If it is feasible, inform me if it happens again."

"Sure thing, Arbiter," Socrates said. "Though, personally, I hope it doesn't. A hiccup in the universe I think I can deal with, but two of them in a row?"

"It is unlikely," the Arbiter admitted. "I was merely speculating. Enjoy your life, Great Thinker Socrates.

...

A couple of years later, Socrates woke up on the exact same day.

"Well that's annoying," Socrates thought aloud. Luckily, he had looked up where to buy elk repellent, and he'd awoke early enough to rush out and grab some before Ari woke up. _This_ time, they wouldn't die.

"DAD, LOOK OUT, A MOOSE!"

...

"COME ON!"

* * *

1.2

 **(Gordian)**

Socrates Jones didn't often get upset. While he would readily admit to being biased, he personally felt that, most of the time, he was a pretty reasonable guy who rarely got angry. It just wasn't really in him to feel something like that. Exasperation or annoyance was really the height of his temper.

But dying in a car accident because of the improbable arrival of some quadruped three times in a row tended to have adverse affects on even the most even-tempered individuals.

"There is, in actuality, a way out," the Arbiter said, beginning the speech that Socrates by now had heard twice before. Feeling a little testier than usual, Socrates went ahead and interrupted.

"It's impossible the find morality, and this is my third time here because time has been repeating or something," Socrates said bluntly. The Arbiter seemed more than a little surprised this time around.

"I... what?"

...

"Fascinating..." By now Socrates had adequately explained his argument about the nature of morality as well as his temporal displacement, and the Arbiter was just as intrigued by Socrates's predicament this time as he had been the last time. "And you say that I asked you to inform me if the reiteration of the past occurred again?"

"Yes, you did," Socrates said with a nod. Ariadne was once again talking to John Stuart Mill, but out of the corner of his eye he could notice that she seemed to be doing so with a little less gusto than last time. She was probably unnerved by his comment that time was repeating, and rightly so. The conversation about how time was repeating for him would probably be just as weird this time as it was the last, but who could help that? They'd get through it just the same, father and daughter.

"Well, if it isn't too much to ask, Socrates -" the Arbiter began, and Socrates went ahead and answered him.

"If I find myself here again - which I don't plan on doing - _yes_ , I'll tell you," he said, a touch exasperated but feeling less angry. He just needed some time to cool down. "But do you really think it'll happen again? I mean, it'd be weird for the universe to break in that specific way three times in a row, right?"

"You certainly have a point about that, Great Thinker Socrates," the Arbiter said. "If we assume each temporal displacement to be unique events, a unique event occurring thrice in succession does seem highly unlikely." Socrates swallowed a little as he saw where the Arbiter was going with this.

"But you don't think they're unique events," Socrates said. "Because it's already unlikely enough that the universe would break in the same way _twice_ in a row, much less three times."

"Indeed," the Arbiter said grimly, crossing his arms. "I fear that both instances were caused by the same event, suggesting that unless that 'something' has been fixed, you will wake up this morning once your brief span of time is up once more."

Socrates paled a little. "I don't think I like the idea of that..." he said, now somewhat nervous.

"Well, if _you_ don't like the idea, how do you suppose I feel?" the Arbiter asked, sounding frank. "According to you, I and everyone else will either have our memories wiped or our existences annihilated, only to be replaced with indistinguishable copies."

"Wait a minute, annihilation?" Socrates interjected, rubbing his chin. "There's no need to leap to annihilation. For all you know, if you _are_ a perfect copy, the old you went to some other afterlife."

"We _are_ in the afterlife," the Arbiter countered.

"An _after_ -afterlife, then," Socrates proposed. "This situation is unique. You certainly can't disprove the notion. Perhaps there is an afterlife reserved for those who do not go through the iteration again the way I do," he suggested.

"I don't feel like that's much better, though," the Arbiter crossed his arms and frowned. "The existential question of indistinguishable copies remains, Socrates."

Socrates didn't have an answer for this. Without meaning to, he turned to look at Ari, his daughter, and the Arbiter's statement rang in his head. _Indistinguishable copies_. Was that really his daughter, Ariadne Jones? Or was it just some sort of horrifyingly accurate fabrication, all a part of the wrongness of this time travel?

As he watched, Ari glanced towards him, noticing his gaze. She smiled and waved, gesturing for him to come and join her in talking to Mills, and Socrates's expression gave way to a soft smile.

"Arbiter," he said, his gaze still fixed on Ari. "I can't answer you as a philosopher. But as a father, I can promise you that that's not a copy. That's my daughter."

"If it were an indistinguishable copy, Socrates, you -" the Arbiter started, but Socrates didn't let him finish.

"Wouldn't be able to tell the difference, I know," Socrates said, the smile not gone. "But tell me, Arbiter? What is the difference between a banana and a truly indistinguishable copy of a banana?"

"Nothing, obviously," the Arbiter answered. Suddenly, his expression shifted, as if realizing what he had just said, and Socrates nodded, knowing what the epiphany had been.

"Exactly," Socrates said. And with that, he walked over to join his daughter. He could already tell that she was going to talk his ear off about John Stuart Mill, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

...

Later, the Arbiter realized something.

"Wait, but we're still talking about billions of deaths every time the iteration starts again!"

* * *

1.3

 **(Rebuttal)**

Ariadne Jones was having the best day EVER.

Well, aside from the part where she and her father's car crashed into a moose and they died, but apparently her father had already resolved that problem with the local Arbiter. Right now they were just staying for a little longer so they could talk to people that they'd probably never have a chance to talk to again.

People like John... Stuart... _Mill_...

No one understood when she talked about him. How could she be the only person who thought that Utilitarianism was dreamy? But who cared what everyone else thought? Right now, she was finally face to face with her idol, the man himself!

"Miss Jones, your understanding of Utilitarianism is remarkable." Had Mill just complimented her? He did! Momentarily she wished she had a phone or camera with her; it was such a shame that none of this was getting recorded. "Thank you for such a spirited discussion."

"John Stuart Mill," Ari said, finally managing to find your voice. "Thank _you_ for such a spirited discussion. You are, without a doubt, the greatest thinker to have ever lived." She paused for a moment, and an idea struck her. "I don't know if pens exist in the Intelligible Realm, but if they do, can you autograph my hand-"

"Ari?" Ari turned around, a little jolted by her father's hand suddenly being on her shoulder. "Dad?" She sighed. "What is it? I was having the greatest discussion ever with John Stuart Mill, the inventor of -"

"The inventor of Utilitarianism, I know," her dad said. "Ari, we kind of need to talk about something."

"I'll say!" Ari answered, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Since when did you know so much about philosophy, Dad? Last I checked, you were a boring, old accountant!"

"Being an accountant is not that bad!" her father replied, visibly annoyed. After only a moment, though, he shook his head, his expression softening into a simple frown. "Sorry, it's just that everyone else in this realm seems to share the same negative opinion of accountants." He paused, thinking. "And I'm not that old, either. Anyway, my sudden knowledge of philosophy is actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Mill, if we could have a little privacy?"

Ari shifted a little as Mill walked away. Something about her father's air made her feel like their conversation as going to be very serious, and she wasn't sure what she should expect. He had already died today, right? It wasn't like there could be any worse news.

"Ari, there's something I need to tell you," he said, looking contemplative, as though he was searching for the right words. "I already know that you noticed how I suddenly became some sort of philosophical genius."

"I wouldn't call you a _genius_ , Dad," Ari interjected. Sure her dad had come up with some cockamamie argument about how morality was impossible to find and, furthermore, had actually backed up his assertion, but she wasn't sure if that made him incredibly brilliant or incredibly lucky.

"Come on, Ari, I bested the Arbiter in a debate about the nature of morality!" her father retorted, looking a little more smug, only to turn solemn again. "I mean, you can't really believe I got lucky, can you?" Ari shrugged in response, feeling genuinely confused.

"I don't know what else I can believe," Ari said, feeling defeated. "There isn't any explanation for it! I wondered if maybe you were hiding some sort of love of philosophy, but that didn't really make any sense."

"...That doesn't make any sense, you're right," her father said with a groan that suggested he had spent about a moment seriously thinking about it. "Anyway, that's not the reason. The truth is that I think I've somehow traveled through time."

"...Dad, we're standing in the afterlife and I think you've lost me," Ari said, placing a hand to her forehead in anticipation of a headache.

"I don't understand it myself, Ari, but I thought you should know," her dad said. "Just so that you're not stuck wondering how I became a pro philosopher out of nowhere for the next few years."

"Few years?" Ari asked, now even more confused. "Usually people use the phrase 'the rest of your life' in situations like this."

"That's another weird thing," her father said, now stroking his chin. "I really can't explain it. All I can say is that I remember us hitting a deer -"

"But we hit a moose, Dad, you bought that deer repellent from Billy," Ari interjected, only to be cut off by her father.

"I did that _this_ time," he replied. "But not the first time. What do you think possessed me to buy that deer repellent in the first place? I was trying to keep us from hitting it again."

"But we ended up hitting a moose anyway?" she asked.

"It was an elk the second time, but yes," he said.

"Wait, what -"

"Sorry, I'm getting off track," her father shook his head. "Anyway. I remember us hitting a deer and waking up here. You arranged the deal with the Arbiter, just like this time, but since it was my first time doing it - though of course I never thought I'd be doing it again for any reason - I knew nothing about philosophy. You helped guide me through debates and taught me how to find flaws in their philosophies, and because of that we managed to get through without making a mistake and choosing the wrong answer. I managed to beat a lot of philosophers in debates. Euthyphro, Protagoras, Hobbes, Mill -"

"Mill?" Ari interrupted, gobsmacked. "But - but Mill's philosophy is perfect! Why wasn't that the answer?"

"Giant monsters who can feel more happiness than we can feel in our whole lives, Ari," her father answered vaguely. "It felt pretty silly saying it, too." Ari decided not to say anything about it. She could press for details later. "Anyway. Mill, even Kant." Her father paused and rubbed the back of his head. "Though to this day I'm still not quite sure what he was talking about during the debate. But ultimately I made a slip of the tongue and mentioned offhand that I didn't think it was really possible to discover the true nature of morality. The Arbiter considered that to be my answer and we were nearly done for, until I debated him and managed to prove that my offhand comment really might be true. And thanks to that, we went home.

"I'm paraphrasing a lot, but I want to get to the point. A few years later, while you were in college, I woke up back on the morning of that day I was supposed to drive you to school, and nobody remembered the first time happening but me. And a few years later, it happened again, I was still the only one who remembered, and now I'm standing here." Her father sighed and frowned. "I don't know how it's happening and I don't know why, but that's how I became a pro philosopher so quickly. It was thanks to you, Ari. And time travel, I guess."

It took a while for Ari to find her voice. But when she did...

"Wait, are my memories being wiped, or am I being annihilated, only to be replaced with an indistinguishable copy?"

"Not this again..."

Eventually, Socrates was able to assuage Ari's worst fears about being annihilated at the end of every iteration. Even so, he could tell something was still troubling her. "Is there anything else that's wrong, Ari?"

"Well..." she started, biting her lip, which made Socrates worry. Ari was normally very confident and certain of herself. Seeing her so anxious... it was more wrong than the time travel. "I don't know. If what you're saying is true, then I'm not really me, am I?"

"What do you mean?" Socrates asked. "I thought we got done talking about how -"

"I know, I know, an indistinguishable copy is just another original, and all, but..." she fell quiet, seemingly struggling for the words. "Well, I'm not really an indistinguishable copy. I'm missing the old me's memories. And what is any sapient being but a composite of all their memories, their experiences? Without all my memories... am I really me?"

Socrates sighed internally. Having a daughter as a philosopher was making this discussion very tricky. Luckily, a similar thing had occurred last time, but with slightly different focuses on the philosophical implications of the time travel. Regardless, he felt like he knew how to tackle this.

"Ari, I don't see why losing your memories should equate to no longer being who you are," Socrates challenged.

"Dad, who is 'Ari' but the girl who possesses all her memories?" Ari asked rhetorically. "Memories and experiences define who we are and shape our identity and the path we take through life. Nothing is more central to being who you are than to have your memories."

Socrates contemplated this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Ari, I think I see what the problem is. You're making a pretty grave misassumption about memories and identity. What you're talking about is more like retaining the same body but having your memories not only lost, but replaced with someone else's. If that happened, it would be pretty arguable that you're a different person. However, that is not what is going on here! What's happening here is a much simpler loss of _some_ memories. Tell me, Ari, when Grandma forgets where her keys are, is she any less herself?"

"Well... no, but..." Ari trailed off, struggling to come up with a rebuttal. "Well, the location of your keys isn't really a defining memory for anyone!"

"True," Socrates conceded. "But I have a better example. Are amnesiacs not treated as being the same person they were before losing their memories?"

"...That's right..." Ari said, realization dawning.

"Exactly, Ari," Socrates said, now smiling as he saw his daughter make the connection. "Even if you forget a few years that I remember, you're not any less 'you' than you were before! I daresay that you're more 'you' than I am 'me,' really. What's more unnatural? Forgetting about a few years that get wiped from existence or retaining those memories despite everyone else forgetting them? If anyone has difficult existential questions to worry about, it's me!" Socrates concluded with a slight flourish, and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face for a long moment.

And then the moment ended and his eyes went wide, his expression fading.

"Oh no, Dad," Ari placed a hand to her head. This time the headache really _was_ coming. "Do I need to comfort _you_ instead?

* * *

1.4

 **(You Remember That I Proved You _Both_ Wrong, Right?)**

"You think I should spend a few of these iterations without telling anyone about my time traveling?" Socrates was currently engrossed in a conversation with John Stuart Mill, father of Utilitarianism, concerning the subject of how to tell Ari about how his bizarre repetition of time. He had been feeling concerned that being told her memories would either be wiped or her existence brought to an end might be having a negative effect on her life, and it had been too long since his first go-around to remember if there was any difference. When he'd taken his problem up with John Stuart Mill, the philosopher had suggested that he simply not tell _anyone_ he was time traveling and see if anyone's lives were noticeably improved.

"I do think so, old chap," Mill said, confirming his query. "It _would_ be the best way to try and determine if telling your daughter about this strange time loop is harming her mental well-being, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I guess so..." Socrates conceded before beginning to rub his chin in thought. "But I don't know. Lying to her? It just doesn't seem right."

"But if it's a lie that improves her life, can you really say that it's wrong?" Mill challenged, as polite and stoic as ever. "People lie every day and tell children that Santa Claus is real, and no one sees that as wrong."

"Hey, Santa Claus is a metaphoric representation of the spirit of charity, hard work, and selflessness, _not_ a lie! It just goes over kids' heads, that's all," Socrates said in response, feeling a little cross that Mill was bringing _Santa Claus_ of all things into the debate.

"And now you're telling yourself a lie that makes you happier as well," Mill stated. Socrates just sighed.

"Okay, _maybe_ you're right about that. But I still feel like Santa Claus is a pretty weak example," Socrates said.

"Nonetheless, it is at least worth a try, isn't it?" Mill asked. Before Socrates could respond, though, an all too familiar voice cut in.

 ** _"NEINSENSE!"_**

"Kant?!" It was. Immanuel Kant, the philosopher who was famous for his deontological beliefs and was difficult to debate simply because the way he spoke made little sense, was running up to them, stumbling over minor imperfections in the ground of the Intelligible Realm.

"I see you haff already become acqvainted viz my name, Herr Jones!" Kant said, sounding pleased as he templed his hands and focused. "Meet vahn of mein adoring fans... check!"

"Er... I'm not a fan of yours, Kant," Socrates said, correcting him. "I've just met you before. Has the Arbiter mentioned my time travel to you?"

"Oh." Kant seemed to wilt ever so slightly, apparently surprised that Socrates wasn't a fan of his. "But _anyvay_. You must not lie to your daughter! Doing so vould be an insult to human dignity!"

"Oh, you and your 'human dignity,' Kant," Mill just smiled and shook his head. "No matter how much you talk about human dignity, you have yet to offer a good rebuttal to the positive impacts some lies have."

"And you haff yet to offer a good rebuttal to how it vould be impossible to trust anyvahn in a vorld vhere efferyvahn lies!" Kant replied. "It is a contradiction zaht cannot be ignored."

Socrates couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose and walk away. He'd give Mill's way a try for at least a few go-arounds, just to see what happened. While he couldn't help but lean a little more Kant on this issue, with time repeating the way it was, he'd hopefully have a chance to get it right if anything went wrong.

* * *

1.1 - Socrates Jones's activation. Let's just say fate's fond of his visit to the Intelligible Realm.

1.2 - Of course, the Arbiter and Socrates are wrong in their speculation that everyone dies at the end of the Loop and is replaced with a distinct copy, but they don't know that yet.

1.3 - And now Socrates and Ari hash things out.

1.4 Meet Immanuel Kant and John Stuart Mill. These are, of course, fictionalized versions of the real people.

* * *

This is yet another branch of the Infinite Loops fanfiction project. More information can be found at the Miscellaneous thread on the Spacebattles forum (look for the one with "3x3" in the title; any other miscellaneous thread is an older thread).

The idea, at its heart, is that characters across the multiverse have started looping in time because of damage to the multiverse itself; the Looping is a type of safe-mode or recuperation process for the multiverse. In this process, characters can awake in other "branches" of the multiverse (other Looping works) or in "Variant" Loops (cycles where things are a bit different).

I feel I should warn you not to expect too much. The _Socrates Jones: Pro Philosopher_ Loops aren't very prolific. As far as I can tell, I am its only writer, barring one mention of it in an _Orthogonal_ snippet from the Miscellaneous thread. And I'm an active writer of fan fiction only _very_ infrequently, and Infinite Loops fanfiction even _more_ infrequently.

Nonetheless, I figured what the heck. May as well put together what there is for the sake of having what does exist all in one place.

The _Socrates Jones: Pro Philosopher_ Loop snippets are posted to the Spacebattles Ace Attorney vs. Professor Layton Loops thread, along with the _Ace Attorney_ and _Professor Layton Loops_ snippets, as you might guess.

There will be two more chapters after this, and that'll probably be it. Either for now or forever, depending on what happens.


	2. Chapter 2

2.1

 **(Let's Change it up a Little)**

"I gotta say, Dad, something about that accident was just unlucky," Ari said, holding a hand to her forehead in exasperation after both she and Socrates woke up in the Intelligible Realm and had gotten a little more settled. "I mean, you had deer, elk, moose, ox, cow, _and_ horse repellent, and we end up hitting a _bear_. I didn't even know there _were_ bears in New York!"

Socrates was half-convinced that there weren't, and that was what had Socrates so ticked off this time around. Every time he woke up back at the beginning of the weird Groundhog Day-esque loop, he rushed out to try and buy repellents for all the animals he'd encountered before. Every time, without fail, something new showed up that he wasn't ready for. The horse had been bad enough, because it showed that reality was starting to move away from horned critters, but the _bear_ was a little much.

Maybe he'd just call it quits. He didn't even know where to start looking for _bear_ repellent.

...

Soon enough, it came time for the Arbiter to go searching for a philosopher for the "inexperienced" Socrates Jones to debate. For the last few dozen iterations, Socrates had been heeding John Stuart Mill's advice and trying to see if Ari was happier when she didn't know time was resetting. To that end, he'd been just going through the motions in the Intelligible Realm, debating all the philosophers more or less the way he originally debated them. It wasn't all _that_ bad, but having to fall into Hobbes's trap every time was starting to _really_ wear on him.

"Hey, Arbiter?" Socrates suddenly spoke up, not even realizing it himself until the words were out of his mouth.

"Yes, Socrates?" the Arbiter said, turning around to address him. "I was just about to seek out someone for you to debate. What is the matter?"

"Mind if I make a request?" Socrates asked. "I've heard about some guy named Nietzsche. I'd like to know if he's all that he's cracked up to be."

"You wish to look into nihilism?" The Arbiter stroked his beard thoughtfully. "A sensible place to start. It's important to determine if there's an answer in the first place before trying to ascertain the nature of morality. Very well, Socrates, I will summon Nietzsche for you."

This would be interesting. Up until now, Socrates had been more or less content with doing things as he remembered, but now he couldn't help but feel curious about what sort of impact these kinds of changes could bring about. In an attempt to try to keep up appearances of being a clueless accountant stuck in a world of philosophers, he turned to Ari.

"Ari, what do you know about Nietzsche? I'm not making some kind of mistake, am I?" Socrates asked.

"I don't think you're making a mistake, Dad," Ari said, thoughtful. "But the debate might get a little weird. Here's what you need to know..."

* * *

2.2

 **(A New Challenger Approaches!)**

With yet another day came yet another reminder that there was a wrinkle in the fabric of time. While Socrates still felt the old annoyance return every now and again, he was starting to grow more or less accustomed to his life being limited to the exact same handful of years again and again. He'd found way to occupy himself. Some repeats he'd spend more time than usual traveling to exotic locations and see the world, in others he'd dedicate himself to gaining a better understanding of philosophy, and yet in others he'd do what he did best and tackle some unproven mathematical proofs. What, he was an accountant by trade! Even if he was a "Pro Philosopher" now, _that_ much would never change.

Lately, he'd decided to return to his "pet project" of sorts: determine whether or not knowing about the way time was repeating itself had a negative impact on Ari's happiness for the rest of her life. It was a complicated experiment, and the number of other variables present (weather, whatever Socrates himself said, different meals, different animals sending them to the Intelligible Realm, etcetera) meant that he couldn't be satisfied with the results of a few runs. While he'd spent at least a couple dozen repeats on just this one project, it wasn't anywhere close to being enough data to extrapolate any kind of conclusion. Furthermore, whatever the difference in happiness was, it was subtle. Ari never turned into a sullen, brooding version of herself, but sometimes Socrates thought he could detect some hint of sadness which he feared originated from what he told her about time repeating. On the other hand, he felt like he detected similar unhappiness even when he _didn't_ tell her. Ari was a teenager; there was a lot going on in her life every repeat that would make her happy or sad or anything in between.

 _(Maybe I've bitten off more than I can chew with this one.)_ Socrates couldn't help but wonder idly. _(I mean, I won't ever_ really _know for sure until I can read her mind. And it's getting hard trying to memorize all this data. I'm worried I'm forgetting something.)_

Socrates sighed. He'd see his project through to the end of this stretch of his limited time, and then maybe he'd reconsider doing his project at all. It was a bit unsatisfying, but sometimes things were just impossible. _(Like finding the precise answer to the question of what morality is.)_ he thought with an internal snicker.

Speaking of this particular repeat, though... Socrates came out of his reverie and returned to thinking about the present moment. He was in the Intelligible Realm yet again, and he'd given up on evading fate and trying not to hit the deer for the time being. He just didn't have the time every morning to run out and buy every possible repellent he needed to keep the constant tide of critters at bay! So, for the last few repeats, they'd been hitting the deer as usual. Additionally, he'd been trying to let events in the Intelligible Realm play out like they usually did, more or less, just to try and get a feel for how Ari acted when he _didn't_ do _anything_ different. It was a little bothersome, but not much since he had a goal in mind, so all was well. Or it _was_ before he decided to give up on that project, but that was something to think about when this particular repeat ended.

Although... Socrates couldn't help but find something about _this particular repeat_... strange. He had done as little different as possible, to the best of his memory, but despite all that, Ari was acting different in a way that made Socrates very curious. She was a lot quieter for some reason when they both got up the morning the repeat always started, as though she was preoccupied with something else on her mind. When Billy showed up with his deer repellent, she was at first a lot less insistent that he learn how to debate by talking to Billy, only to suddenly change her mind and demand that he get some practice by talking to him. She'd even tried to get him to buy some of Billy's deer repellent! And now that they were in the Intelligible Realm, Ari was spending a lot more of her time sitting by herself and thinking and a lot less of it chatting it up with philosophers she'd never dreamed of meeting.

For now, Socrates was just carefully watching what was happening. As soon as they were both alive again, he'd talk to her about this and see what was wrong. Maybe time had repeated itself so much that something just _had_ to change? Socrates couldn't be sure. For now, though, the Arbiter was coming back to talk to them, and Socrates could see that this time it was with John Stuart Mill in tow.

...

For all of Socrates's utter confusion whenever he saw Ari more or less "squee" (was that what the kids called it?) at the sight of John Stuart Mill, he was honestly hoping that meeting her idol would improve her mood a little. When he saw Ari make eye contact with him and then just sort of shrug it off... _now_ he was _really_ getting worried.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a second?" Ari grabbed him by the arm and tugged him away from Mill, just as he was preparing to debate the man. This was odd... it certainly had never happened before.

"Sure, Ari," he said, trying to keep his befuddlement from showing. "Arbiter, Mill, can we have a second?"

"Certainly, my good chap," Mill answered, as cordial as ever. "Take all the time you need."

"Thanks," Socrates said. Once they were both out of earshot, Ari began to speak.

"Dad, you need to be careful with Mill," Ari said, her quiet look still not gone from her face. "His philosophy _sounds_ really good, but... you can never know for sure. Just don't take his stuff at face value, okay?"

"What?!" Okay, _this_ was WEIRD. "But - Ari, I thought Utilitarianism was the philosophy that _you_ believed in!"

"I, uh..." Ari stammered, looking somewhat caught off guard, but only for a moment; in an instant, _she_ was the one who clearly had questions and was looking at him quizzically. "Hold on, how do _you_ know about Mill's Utilitarianism? I thought you didn't know _anything_ about philosophy!"

"Oh, well... uh... urk." Socrates clammed up. How was he supposed to get out of this one? "Well, uh... I overheard you talking about it before?"

"You usually tune me out when I talk about philosophy, though," Ari observed. "It wasn't until after Mill that you admitted to taking an interest - _eep!_ " Ari clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. It was too late to try and cover now, though; Socrates could tell what was going on, and he wasn't sure if he should be elated or terrified.

"Ari..." Socrates said. "Do you remember this happening before, too?" Ari nodded slowly, only to suddenly snap to attention, intrigued.

"Wait... 'too?'" she asked, breathless.

"I'll explain once we're out of here," Socrates said. "For now, we're going to skip a few things on the agenda." Socrates began to march towards the Arbiter, feeling determined. "Arbiter! I need to talk to you about the answer to morality!"

* * *

2.3

 **(Unalone)**

It was a lot longer than Socrates would've liked before he could sit down with Ari properly and talk about the time travel that kept happening to him and had now happened to her. Waking up in the hospital surrounded by concerned nurses and doctors sort of necessitated that they postpone the discussion a little. Fortunately, neither of them ended up too banged up after waking up from the Intelligible Realm, and after the necessary time had passed, they were released from the hospital (but _why_ did everything have to _hurt_ so much?!), giving them the opportunity to talk about what had happened.

All things considered, Ari was taking it rather well. She listened closely, only rarely interrupting to clarify certain statements, and she was doing a fairly good job of not freaking out. Finally, he came to the end of his tale, concluding that while he had no idea what was going on, it was likely that the two of them would probably continue repeating time this way. Ari nodded, thoughtful. And then -

"Wait, is everyone else having their memories wiped, or are they being annihilated and replaced with identical copies of themselves?"

Socrates managed not to twitch. _Barely_.

...

"...So _no_ , I can't say anything for certain, but it seems ridiculous to dwell on whether or not you're a perfect copy of some original Ari, because a perfect copy is really just another original. Does that clear things up for you?" Socrates concluded his philosophical discourse for the umpteenth time. He was _very_ glad he wasn't going to have to have this conversation with Ari again. That was at least _one_ good thing coming out of this.

"It does clear things up," Ari conceded. "But I can't help but wonder about the possibility that everyone else is being killed over and over again."

"The universe is presumably broken, Ari," Socrates said flatly. "It's not as though anyone or anything is doing this on purpose." Socrates then frowned and sighed deeply. Now that Ari was joining him in this time travel, he was very troubled. "I just wish you didn't have to be pulled into all of this, Ari."

"What? What do you mean, Dad?" Ari asked. "Do you _want_ me to constantly be annihilated only to be replaced with identical copies?"

"No, of course not, Ari, that's not what I meant!" Socrates said, alarmed that _that_ was the first conclusion Ari drew. "It's not that. I wish you didn't have to join me on this because..." How to put it? "I... I didn't want you to have to worry about it all, I guess. I mean, living with the knowledge that the universe is _broken_ is just..." Socrates shook his head. "Sometimes it hits me, and I can't sleep for weeks. I'm handling this alright, but I still don't know how it might affect you in the long term. I've told you before, but because you would forget at the end of the cycle, I couldn't tell whether it would be a hardship for you in the _long_ run. I honestly wasn't certain if it was ruining your life in the short run either. I guess... I was scared. I _am_ scared, Ari. This whole thing... I have no idea what it is, and I'd rather that as few people as possible have to deal with it. I can handle it, I think... but I'd hate for anyone else to have to go through it."

"...Dad..." Ari said, and Socrates could see something bittersweet in her expression. "You'd go through this all alone just so no one else had to do it?"

"...Yeah," Socrates said, not a doubt in his voice. Maybe he was just an Ace Accountant and Pro Philosopher, but... he wasn't someone who could just sit around while another person was in danger. If he could do something, he would. And now, all he _thought_ he could do was face it alone... but apparently he didn't even have a choice in that much.

Ari gave Socrates a long, hard look, and suddenly Socrates realized that he couldn't quite tell what Ari was thinking this time.

"Dad..." she started to say, all tenderness. "You don't have to face this stuff alone. Maybe you're my father, but I'm your daughter!" Ari said in a voice that made it clear she wouldn't stand being disagreed with. "I know you're there for me, so I'm here for you. We're a family, Dad. You don't have to go it alone."

"..." Socrates couldn't quite find words to say for longer than he was comfortable with. Going through this sliver of his life again and again and debating philosophers endlessly had taught him a thing or two about words, language, and speaking. Somehow, though, he was still stunned speechless.

Finally, he found the words. "Ari... I still wish this didn't have to happen to you... but it means a lot that you'll be keeping me company in this."

"We're family, Dad," Ari said. "What else would I do?"

* * *

2.4

 **(Debating about Debating)**

"Mr. Socrates Jones, do you have something to say in response to Mr. Edgeworth's allegations or not?"

"I'm sorry, whaaaaAAAAA...?" Socrates Jones, Ace Accountant, Pro Philosopher, and unwilling time traveler had accomplished and seen much in the relative span of time ever since he noticed that the same few years of his life were repeating. He'd debated and discussed with philosophers both living and dead from all walks of life, he'd traveled the world, he'd worked his way through seemingly impossible mathematical proofs, and he'd recently been joined by his daughter Ariadne Jones.

Never before, however, had he woken up in an unrecognizable courtroom wearing a blue suit he didn't own next to a young woman dressed for an anime convention across from a man with a steel gaze and a fashion sense straight out of the 19th century.

No, _this_ was new.

"Psst!" the young woman next to him - _Maya_ , his memories said. Whose memories were these?! He didn't know this girl! - nudged him a little and whispered. "Are you Awake?"

"Why wouldn't I be awake?" Socrates whispered back, a little harshly. "Where am I? Who are you?!" Quite unexpectedly, the girl grinned at his answer.

"New to the Loops, huh?" she said.

"Huh?"

"A- _hem!_ Mr. Jones, does the defense have any response to the prosecution or not?" Socrates's head whipped to the right, and high above the courtroom he could see a bearded man in judge's robes - apparently the judge of the trial. The jury was nowhere to be seen - and yet some part of Socrates's "memories" was telling him that juries hadn't been around for years. What was going on here?

Socrates tried to think as quickly as he could. He was... a defense attorney. His boss, Mia Fey, was recently murdered, and the girl next to him, Maya Fey, was her sister as well as the one accused of the crime. The guy across from him, Miles Edgeworth, was a "demon prosecutor," but apparently wasn't so bad in elementary school, and the justice system was...

Oh _heck_ no. This was straight out of his original conversation with John Stuart Mill! Had the universe gone _insane?_

Well, no matter. Socrates would deal with this the way he always did.

"If the defense has no further objections, this court finds the defendant, Maya Fey..." the judge raised his gavel high, brow furrowed, mouth turned downward in a frown, and...

 ** _"NONSENSE!"_** Socrates bellowed, interrupting the judge's verdict. "Your Honor! You cannot end the trial like this, nor can you allow it to proceed in its present fashion!"

"W-what, Mr. Jones?!" the judge said, startled. "How can I both end the trial and not end it?"

"Not exactly what I mean, Your Honor," Socrates said. "What I mean is that you can't declare my client guilty unless we change the way how these trials work."

"And why on earth not, Mr. Jones?" the judge asked with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Socrates, what are you doing?" Maya whispered. "There's a contradiction in the witness's testimony! You should be going after that!" Contradictions? Socrates didn't get it, but he didn't need to. There was something else to go after here.

"Your Honor, Prosecutor Edgeworth, the Initial Trial System was put into place in an effort to combat the staggering crime rate, yes?" Socrates asked, stroking his goatee.

"That is correct, Mr. Jones," Edgeworth answered, looking impatient. "Now does this impromptu history lesson happen to have anything to do with the verdict in question?"

"As a matter of fact, it does!" Socrates replied. "My objection is not to your case, but to _the Initial Trial System itself!_ Your Honor, if you do not declare a mistrial, you will perpetuate the legitimization of marginalizing the American populace!"

"I - what?!" the judge said, looking more confused than anything. Edgeworth, meanwhile, looked irate.

"Mr. Jones, have you gone _mad?!_ " he declared, hunched over the bench and clenching his teeth. "How can you possibly object to justice itself?" Socrates shook his head and smirked.

"Not to justice, Prosecutor Edgeworth, but to the _system_ we use," he said. "The Initial Trial System is a means to an end. Its goal is to reduce the crime rate, nothing more. However, this means that all those who participate in it, defendants in particular, are _also_ reduced to means to an end! I refuse to stand for such dehumanization of American citizens, Your Honor, and neither should you!"

"I... I never thought of it like that!" the judge said, sounding stunned. "I... I'd have to hand in my gavel, but... you're right! How _can_ I stand for the dehumanization of the people I swore to protect?"

 _Got it!_ Socrates thought, triumphant. Maya's jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out.

"How... _how_ did you _do_ that?!" Maya asked. "I'm not even sure it makes sense! What is it?"

"It's philosophy, Ms. Fey," Socrates said, feeling proud. "It trumps _anything_. Except math, of course."

"In consideration of this brand new perspective that Mr. Jones has provided," the judge said, raising his gavel high. "This court now declares..."

 ** _"OBJECTION!"_** Before the judge could declare his verdict, Miles Edgeworth sprang up, slamming a hand on the bench before tapping the side of his head. "Not so fast, Your Honor. I'll admit to being taken somewhat off guard by Mr. Jones's... strategy, shall we call it. But rest assured that I can rebut his argument as easily as any other attorney I've dueled." He smirked. "Let it never be thought that Miles Edgeworth was not well-versed in philosophy."

Socrates swallowed a little; apparently they weren't out of the woods just yet.

"Now then, Mr. Jones," Edgeworth said as he settled into a more relaxed, but still formal, posture. "I see that you've been reading Immanuel Kant recently, given the way your argument operates. Nonetheless, I propose a different perspective on the problem. While you may claim that our treatment of the defendants and crimes under the Initial Trial System is dehumanizing, can you really disregard the positive impacts it has had on cutting our crime rate down? Would you truly ask for us to change this system when we could risk higher crime rates, greater chaos, and, ultimately, a lower standard of living throughout the country?"

 _Dangit!_ Socrates gritted his teeth and frowned. Miles Edgeworth was throwing a Utilitarian curve ball at him. This would require some careful thinking to rebut...

...

"Even though you didn't get the judge to declare me Not Guilty, it's still pretty impressive that you managed to get us an extra day just with philosophy," Maya Fey said, now on the opposite side of bullet proof glass.

"Yeah, I guess so," Socrates said, still feeling miffed. "That guy sure knows his philosophy, though... gave me the first run for my money that I've had in awhile, if only because the premise of my argument was a little wacky. " Something about what he says seems to catch Maya's attention, and she perks up, clapping her hands together. "Oh! This reminds me! You've been repeating your life, haven't you?"

"Wait, _what?!_ " Of all the things Socrates expected to hear, _this_ wasn't one of them. "How do you... are some sort of psychic?"

"Hahah!" Maya laughed. "Yes, but that doesn't have to do with it. You should sit down. This is... kind of a long explanation."

...

It was. It was a long explanation dealing with a damaged multiverse, some desperate "Admins," and both "fusion" and "variants." Socrates wasn't sure what to make of it all, but it seemed to line up with his own experiences. The different animals he crashed his car into could be considered variants, and the Arbiter did occasionally bring him a different philosopher than usual unbidden. The idea of _other universes_ being out there, though, was _crazy_ , if true as evidenced by the unfamiliar circumstances he'd awoken - sorry, _A_ woken in this time around.

"Oh!" Another thought came to mind, and Socrates started to feel anxious. "My daughter, Ari, she's also, uh... Looping? She's Looping, but we usually wake up together in our apartment... where do you think she could be?"

"Daughter, huh..." Maya considered this for a moment before continuing. "If she's not in this Loop, she might be somewhere else. You'll run into her again, though, don't worry. Of course, not being the Anchor means she could be Unawake, but... anyway. So she's either in another Loop somewhere, _or_ you'll run into her in about three years and end up adopting her."

Socrates's expression probably betrayed his confusion, because Maya laughed again before continuing. "Yeah, the future's weird. I'd tell you more, but I bet you want it to be a surprise -"

"No surprises, please," Socrates said firmly. He didn't really like surprises.

"Fine," Maya said, looking pouty. "Partypooper."

* * *

2.5

 **(Copy, Paste)**

Ariadne Jones yawned as she walked into her dad's kitchen for some breakfast, not even bothering to feel surprised that she had woken up here when she'd gone to bed in her own apartment on the other side of town the night before. By now she knew that this only meant the cycle of time was repeating itself again, and she was back at the start. It was times like these that she was glad her dad always kept stocked up on tasty breakfast foods like waffle mix, fruit, and sugary cereals.

As Ari looked at her options, the extraordinarily sugary chocolate frosted cereal she saw reminded her of the certain perverse glee she found in the idea that she could be gluttonous and suffer consequences only temporarily, but she'd put off trying it out for the time being. Something about it didn't quite sit well with her, and she had a bad feeling that it might develop into an unhealthy habit. Perhaps not _physically_ so, but maybe mentally or emotionally. Regardless, she grabbed a box of waffle mix - true, she decided not to be _gluttonous_ , but waffle mix was something _everyone_ indulged in once in a while. It'd be fine.

As she set the waffle iron sizzling, she could also hear the tell tale sound of her father getting up around the corner and down the hall. She chuckled a bit - he'd never been a morning person, and the grouchy, scuzzy man who wandered in confirmed her suspicions that he was, as he tended to, having trouble getting up.

"I'm winning the bet, Dad," Ari said playfully. "That's twenty-three cycles in a row that you didn't get up before me. I thought you said you were working on waking up earlier?"

"Mhhfgdntwkgslammhkll..." her dad groaned out as he grabbed an orange and mindlessly began gnawing at it. She _knew_ that he _could_ get up earlier than her - he had done so on select occasions - so it was odd that he was having so much trouble in recent cycles. Either way, a half-comatose father wouldn't do her any good this time around either, so tried another dig to get him moving.

"What's that, Dad? I couldn't understand you over the sound of your imminent defeat," she said, allowing more sass than usual to seep into her tone. "At this rate we'll hit fifty cycles in a row in no time!"

"I said I didn't sleep in last Loop," her dad muttered grumpily after accidentally striking himself in the face with the orange (around his glasses and eyes), finally waking himself properly. He started peeling nonchalantly and took a slow bite, savoring it quietly.

Ari, meanwhile, was still thinking. Last time... no, she'd gotten up early again last cycle. She'd been training herself to wake up early specifically to try and win this bet! Unless... was she already losing her grip? After only... only... she couldn't remember how long it'd been anymore.

"Ari?" Some of the fear must've shown on her face because her dad was looking just at her with an expression that spoke of as much concern as she felt. "Something the matter?"

"Dad..." Ari said, only a slight hitch in her voice - she had to keep it _together_ , they were in this _together_! "I don't think I'm remembering the last cycle properly. I remember waking up earlier than you. I... I'm not sure I like what that might mean. About my memory. I mean." Ari swallowed, a little uncertain, and she found she couldn't quite read her dad's expression. He was usually so obvious... but this time he was so stoic, and yet she could tell something big was going through his mind. It was in his eyes.

Finally, he replied. "Ari, we should sit down. It's not what you think, but... it's a pretty big deal."

"Dad?"

"I'll tell Billy to go away when he shows up and we'll use the time to talk instead. Don't worry, we'll still be on schedule," her dad said. Ari paused, but only for a moment, and she nodded carefully.

"Okay, Dad."

...

Their discussion was, putting it bluntly, a little hard for Ari to follow. And that was coming from someone who'd seen what happened after death _and_ was stuck in a Groundhog Day style time loop. There were other _universes_? The whole capital "U" _Universe_ was broken? And Dad had _gone_ to this other "Loop?!" Luckily, her dad had experienced the other end of the conversation - of not getting what's going on - so he took it nice and slowly, and, given enough time, she managed to understand what was going on.

Her first instinct was to scream that it couldn't be true, but she clamped down on the rationally irrational part of her mind; after all that she'd seen, what _couldn't_ be true? Furthermore, she trusted her father to not lie to her - and she'd probably be able to tell if he did, anyway.

"So, uh, that's how I 'didn't sleep in' last cycle. I mean Loop, Or cycle. I don't know," her dad finished, somewhat lamely, as it was a bit of an anticlimax. He avoided sleeping in by "Awakening..." awake. "And... yeah."

"Okay..." Ari nodded slowly. She'd noticed something a little odd about his story earlier, but had held off on asking about it. Now that he was finished, though... "Dad? Can you explain something else?"

"Yeah?" her dad answered, and by the shift in his visage Ari could tell he was anticipating her question.

"Well... I don't remember this iteration you went through," Ari said, cautious. "And if I don't remember it, I have no way of knowing I experienced it, and... I mean, it seems to me like I... vanished," Ari finished uncomfortably. "Where did I go, Dad?" Once again, her father paused, apparently considering the best way to answer.

"The thing is, Ari," he finally said, though clearly more slowly than he usually spoke. Ari guessed it was to give him the necessary time to think of his next words. "You _were_ there. The Phoenix guy I was replacing... he has this daughter that he adopts, Trucy Gramarye. And, well, instead of Trucy, the universe had Ariadne Gramarye. So you _were_ there. Except... you weren't _Awake_."

Ari nodded, turning this over in her mind. "So I was there, but I didn't remember anything about me?" Ari asked, managing to stay composed. Existential questions, fears, and doubts roiled inside her, but for the time being she managed to keep them in check. Panicking would do no good at a time like this. "I didn't remember 'Looping' or growing up with you as my dad or Mom as my mom or -" she stopped short. "None of that?"

"...No," her dad confirmed. "All you remembered was being two magicians' daughter and learning all of their skills."

"But I remember none of that now," Ari noted.

"Yeah, you don't," her dad concurred. After another silence, he continued. "There's something else I've been keeping from you, Ari." Ari nodded and bit at the inside of her cheek.

"I think I know where this is going," Ari said quietly. "This isn't the first time that's happened?"

"Yes and no," her dad answered quickly. Then, taking a moment to compose himself, he continued. "No, my last cycle - Loop - urgh. My last whatever was my first time Waking up in another world," he said.

"But?"

"...But it wasn't my first time Waking up while you didn't," he finally said. Ari swallowed, not for the first time, and her mind slowly drew some concerning conclusions.

"So I vanished into nothingness between cycles," Ari said with a slight waver in her voice. "And there are copies of me running around in the multiverse."

"Vanished?" Her dad unexpectedly got a fair bit more serious, and he seemed to straighten up. "What do you mean vanish? And copies? Who said anything about that?" Ari blinked a little, surprised that her self-proclaimed "Pro Philosopher" dad didn't seem to see the existential implications of his experience, but she went ahead and explained.

"Well, let's start with the 'Ariadne Gramarye' example you provided, Dad, as I think that'll address the problem of 'copies' I mentioned" Ari said, setting up her argument, her tone energizing a little as she geared up for debate. Even if the subject was existentially depressing, a good debate always brought her spirits up. "Ariadne Gramarye has no memory of being me, and I have no memory of being her. Given that, it seems apparent enough that we are two separate and distinct sapient beings. She is a sort of 'copy' of me, or at least a doppelganger, one who I will assume convincingly acted like me given that you apparently don't think of her as a copy. Furthermore, there are the 'Unawake' versions of me who have also appeared in your past and aren't me either, as they didn't remember being me, and I don't remember being them. Memories are what make an individual, Dad, and having different memories pretty strongly indicates a different person. Based on that, I'd say there are copies of me running around."

"And the problem with that is...?" her dad asked, quirking an eyebrow. Ari sighed, exasperated that her dad didn't yet see the trouble.

"Don't you realize that it's a little existentially troubling for there to be such accurate doppelgangers of yourself running around in the multiverse?" Ari paused, and her eyes suddenly widened. "No... what's worse is that they're gone at the end of each Loop... accurate copies of _me_ are _dying_ -"

 _ **"NONSENSE!"**_ Before Ari could finish the train of thought, though, her dad spoke up and thundered the word that had become his favorite ever since he first started debating philosophy all those Loops and cycles ago. "Ari, there's something very important you're overlooking!"

"Overlooking?" Ari considered this but shook her head. "I can't think of anything I might be overlooking, Dad. What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you, Ari," her dad said, perhaps a little too smugly (she couldn't fault him; she got like that in debates too). "You're forgetting about the borderline fantastical nature of our situation."

"Borderline?" Ari parroted, deadpan.

"Okay, full-on fantastical," her dad conceded. "But that only strengthens my point. While normally I'd agree that beings that don't share memories are probably distinct individuals, you're forgetting that our circumstances allow for what might otherwise be impossible. You see, Ari, I posit that you _were_ you all those times - the only thing that changed were your memories!"

"My - my memories?" Ari asked incredulously. "But if you change my memories, then don't you change my very self?!"

"Not quite," her dad countered. "Our numerous trips to the Intelligible Realm have confirmed the possibility of afterlife, yes?"

"Well... yeah," Ari said.

"Of course, if there's an afterlife to exist in, there must be _something_ to exist _in_ the afterlife in the first place, right?"

"Right..." Ari said. Her dad only grinned.

"Well, I can't believe we didn't realize it sooner, but we just proved the existence of a soul."

"A soul?" Ari exclaimed. "Well - yeah, but -" Her dad had a point, but she wasn't sure what the, well, _point_ was. "How does _that_ affect the debate?"

"Greatly," her dad said. "If souls are real, then that means it is possible for you and all the other Ariadnes out there to have something in common after all, even if your memories differ!"

"No way..."

"You all have the same _soul!_ " her dad declared. "Deep down, all of you really _are_ the same person, because you have the same soul deep inside!" Her dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he continued. "The nature of Yggdrasil's time repeats must not only cause time to repeat, it also _influences memory_. Those who are Awake are immune to the memory erasure. And when we have Fused Loops we see memory manipulation on Yggdrasil's part. Ultimately, you aren't being copied because it's _all you!_

"I think this even addresses your concern of 'vanishing,' Ari," her dad added. "Because you're never _gone_. You just exist with different memories in different 'places,' so to speak. I mean, if we're concerned about 'vanishing,' what about between Loops? Where do we go then, Ari?"

"Uh..." She hadn't _quite_ thought of that.

"Yggdrasil is managing all our souls, Ari," her dad concluded. "There's no need to worry about 'vanishing' or about 'copies.' It's all just a result of the Loops."

Ari considered this for what felt like a long, long while. It was a lot to take in.

"Alright, I'll concede this one, Dad, because your position makes a lot of sense," she said. "But I'm not sure if a broken world tree doing mind wipes is very reassuring."

"Point," her dad said glumly. "But it's what we live with."

They both sat in the living room for a few moments longer, each pondering the ramifications of their philosophical discussion and trying to take it all in. Eventually, though, her dad stood. "Anyway, we'd better get you to school, Ari,"

"School?" Ari asked, bewildered. "Don't you mean the Intelligible Realm? There's no way we're not hitting that deer or whatever else shows up," Ari said. "You've already told me about how hard you've tried."

"True," her dad said, but now a sly gleam entered his eyes, and Ari wasn't quite sure how to react to it. "But while I was with Maya Fey, I learned about this technique called the 'Subspace Pocket.' Basically, it's hammerspace that I can make using Looper energy or... something. I don't get it, but it works, and you don't look a gift horse in the mouth." Her dad reached into nowhere and somehow pulled out spray can after spray can of unusually labeled pest repellents. "And I made sure to grab all the repellents I could while I was over there."

"I don't think I _wanted_ to know there were people who sold cow repellent."

...

Ari kept a safe distance between herself and her dad in the Intelligible Realm in order to allow him to stew on his own. By this point the other philosophers of the Realm had figured out that her now extremely crabby dad was _not_ the Great Thinker Socrates who had vanished years ago. As they sat silently, Ari tapped the ground with her foot, trying to remain patient.

"Where," her dad finally spoke up. "Does a _lion_ come from in _New York_?!" Ari continued tapping her foot, only to sigh.

"The zoo...?"

"A LION!"

* * *

2.1 - And Socrates now tries experimenting with his actions in the timeline. While he's messed with time already, before this it was only to the extent of giving away the fact that he was a time traveler so he could get himself and Ari out of the Intelligible Realm more quickly.

2.2 - Other characters in the Branch can also start Looping. The general rule of thumb is that those who are emotionally significant to the first Looper - the Anchor - are more likely to start Looping.

2.3 - Looper's guilt?

2.4 - Socrates really is a partypooper. He's not much for Loop shenanigans.

2.5 - Have you noticed that I really like exploring the philosophical and existential implications of the Infinite Loops?


	3. Chapter 3

3.1

 **(Philosopher's Log: Elaboration of the First Fused Loop)**

The members of the Bar Association review board (save Kristoph Gavin) glared openly at Socrates Jones. It seemed that Maya had forgotten to mention something to him when he asked for "no surprises" (from the experience he'd had with her this Loop he couldn't quite tell if it was intentional or not), and he'd just recently been caught presenting forged evidence in the Gramarye trial.

"Mr. Socrates Jones," the board chair said with a stern voice. "For your use of forged evidence in a trial, the Bar Association hereby disbars you in a vote of 18 to one to zero. You will turn in your badge and be prohibited from practicing law in the state of California or probably any other state from this time!"

Socrates nodded slowly, stretched his arms, and allowed himself a lazy grin. " _Finally_."

The board collectively looked as though it had swallowed a melon. "Pardon?" Kristoph Gavin finally managed after an uncomfortably long silence.

"I said 'finally,'" Socrates repeated for the board. He shrugged and added, "I dunno, I've just gotten tired of this whole 'attorney' thing. I think I'll be an accountant or something."

"You - what?!" the board chair spluttered. "Are you not at all bothered by this?!"

"No?"

" _What?!_ "

* * *

3.2

 **(Primordial Parking)**

"The universe is out to get me, Ariadne," Socrates Jones, ace accountant, pro philosopher, and doing-his-best dad declared as soon as he had a private moment with his daughter in the Intelligible Realm.

"That's ridiculous, Dad," replied Ariadne Jones, star student, pro philosopher, and definitive daughter. "That would suggest that the universe is somehow capable of having motivations, goals, and emotions. It'd have to be sentient at the least."

"Considering that the universe is a mythical Norse tree, that's not too far out of the question..." Socrates grumbled. Ariadne sighed with a huff and allowed herself to fall backwards to the ground, exasperated.

"I still doubt that the universe is 'out to get you,'" Ariadne insisted.

"Ariadne, we hit a _triceratops_ this time," Socrates said, his eyes growing cold and dark. "The shark I could handle. But an animal that should be extinct?"

"Our Loop memories _did_ suggest this was a fused Loop with Dr. Alan Grant and his 'park of death,'" Ariadne offered helpfully. "Sure, it doesn't explain why the triceratops was all the way here in New York, but it's a start."

"Stupid Jurassic Park and stupid multiverse making stupid things stupid real..." Socrates continued to murmur, and Ariadne raised an eyebrow at him.

"Dad, you're overreacting, and this is weird for you," she said. "Sure, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If you're in such a big rush, we can tell the Arbiter about your time traveling and just get out of here."

"I know, I know," Socrates said, suddenly sheepish and now rubbing the back of his head nervously. "I guess... I think I sort of accidentally made trying to figure out how to _not_ hit anything on the way to school a matter of pride."

"Dad..." Ariadne said. Now she was _definitely_ exasperated.

"You're right, you're right!" Socrates said in agreement. "I'll try to take it easy."

"Thank you."

Socrates's eye _twitched_ , and Ariadne couldn't blame him this time.

"Allow me to present the first philosopher you will be debating," the Arbiter said glibly. "Meet Velocius!"

"Hello," the velociraptor said.

 _The **velociraptor** said._

"The universe is out to get me, Ariadne," Socrates said in a low voice.

"...It just might be..."

* * *

3.3

 **(Newton's Flaming Laser Sword)**

The Arbiter stumbled as he strolled through the vaguely rocky and ruinous landscape of the Intelligible Realm, momentarily caught off guard by an unexpected shift in his surroundings. He stopped and glanced around, and he could not help but think that he could've _sworn_ he was walking through an entirely difference part of the Intelligible Realm only a moment ago. Unable to think of any interesting explanation for the occurence, the Arbiter carried on with his stroll. Perhaps it was just something he didn't understand about the world of the dead, or maybe he had been dead for so long that the subtle differences in the landscape were starting to run and bleed together. Ultimately, it was of no matter. So long as he retained enough wits to philosophize, he was content.

The Arbiter started to think that something might be amiss when he encountered the young Ariadne Jones (she still looked the same age; hadn't it been longer since she was here?) engaged in a spirited discussion about the value of freedom in a state of anarchy with William Godwin. Confused at the sight, since the Arbiter had hoped he wouldn't encounter either of the Joneses again so quickly, he approached, raising a hand in greeting.

"William Godwin," he said, first greeting the more familiar philosopher with a nod before turning toward Ariadne. "And -"

"Ah, Arbiter!" Godwin interrupted while quickly gesturing to Ariadne. "This young woman is Ariadne Jones! Never before have I borne witness to a mind so sharp in a person so young. It is incredible!"

The Arbiter nodded impatiently and said, "I am aware, Godwin. I'm acquainted with the young thinker Ariadne Jones." He ignored Godwin's surprised look - he was the Arbiter; he didn't have to explain himself - and to Ariadne he said, "While it is a pleasure to see you again, I can't help but feel disappointed that you did not last longer in the world. What tragedy has returned you to the Intelligible Realm so quickly?"

"Wait, you -" Ariadne started, but Godwin again interjected.

"Return? What do you mean?" Godwin asked, and the Arbiter sighed at his ignorance. "How can she have 'returned'?"

"Did you not hear of it?" the Arbiter asked. "A few years ago, Miss Jones arrived here with her father Socrates Jones. They won my wager and were able to restore themselves to life." He crossed his arms and sighed. "Though it would seem that Miss Jones did not retain her second gift of life for as long as I hoped she would."

"Someone won your wager?" Godwin asked, sounding gobsmacked.

The Arbiter's eyes glowed and he thundered, "For goodness' sake, Godwin, have you been living under a rock?!"

"Arbiter," Ariadne said, distracting the Arbiter from his fury. "You remember me and my dad?"

"Of course," the Arbiter said coolly. "It was not exactly a forgettable event. Why do you seem so surprised?"

"But -" Before Ariadne could finish, a strange thunder echoed across the vastness of the afterlife, and the Arbiter was astonished to see a mob literally _drag_ Socrates Jones to him in much the same way as they had a few years prior before backing away with undeserved reverence.

"Great Thinker Socrates?" The Arbiter quirked an eyebrow. "Not you too."

"Me... too?" Now Socrates raised an eyebrow. The Arbiter nodded.

"Is it not ironic - and somewhat irritating - that only a few years after more or less rising from the dead that you find yourself here again?" the Arbiter asked. "I, at least, feel vaguely bothered."

"What? What do you - wait, you recognize me?" Socrates asked.

"Why is everyone acting so surprised?" the Arbiter asked, throwing his hands into the air. Unexpectedly, however, the nearest philosophers who managed to catch snippets of the conversation seemed as confused as Socrates.

"Arbiter?" Protagoras asked. "How do you recognize this man? He said that he was the Great Thinker Socrates, and he vanished before you took over the role of Arbiter from your predecessor."

"Though I remain unconvinced that this unimpressively-bearded man is truly the Great Thinker himself," Hypatia added. "Socrates would not wear such a scraggly goatee."

Now it was the Arbiter's turn to be confused - _again_. "What are you two going on about?" the Arbiter asked. "Of course this is not the Great Thinker Socrates - Protagoras, you know that _I_ am that Socrates! This is Socrates _Jones_ , the accountant who won my wager a few years ago!"

Now _everyone_ looked bewildered.

And then the word spread to other philosophers, and everything got loud.

" _Not_ Socrates?"

"The _Arbiter_ is the Great Thinker?"

"- not possible!"

"An _accountant_ -?"

 _ **"SILENCE!"**_ the Arbiter bellowed, and a hush immediately fell over the multitude. His eyes glowing behind his mask, he continued, "Now, if this is someone's idea of a jest, it most certainly _isn't_ amusing, and I demand that it be brought to an end _immediately_. Why do you not remember the Joneses?"

"Uh, Arbiter?" The Arbiter glanced over at Socrates, who was raising a hand slightly meekly. "It's not a joke, but I _can_ explain what's going on.

"Me too," Ariadne added, stepping up to her father. The Arbiter nodded his approval.

"Thank you, Socrates," the Arbiter said. To the rest of the philosophers he declared, _**"Leave us!"**_ As the crowd dispersed, the Arbiter said to Socrates and Ariadne, "Now, you said you had an explanation for this?"

"You... might want to sit down," Ariadne said.

Tthe Arbiter showed the way to a conveniently shaped rock formation nearby, and once they were seated he said, "So, Socrates, Miss Jones? What is going on?"

"Well, uh, in the simplest terms - Socrates coughed, and his anxiety was obvious. "Sheesh, I didn't expect explaining this to be so nervewracking..." Ariadne just rolled her eyes, evidently not nearly as nervous about the whole thing.

"Basically, time is stuck in a loop because all of reality is broken," Ariadne said. The Arbiter raised an eyebrow, but he decided against trying to object. The Joneses were trustworthy; he'd listen for the time being. He nodded to Ariadne, and she continued, "My dad and I have already been through the time loop a lot of times. It ends about three years from now and starts over."

"I was the first person in our world to become aware of it," Socrates said, apparently finally overcoming his nerves and now becoming more serious. "Ariadne was next, and you're the third."

"Hold," the Arbiter said, raising a hand. "What do you mean by 'our world'? Is there any other?"

"Well..." Socrates said.

"Yes," Ariadne finished for Socrates. "By 'all of reality,' I meant that the _Multiverse_ is broken."

"The Multiverse," the Arbiter repeated.

"I know is all sounds crazy!" Socrates said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "It - well, it _is_. But it's the truth! A while back - I'm not sure how long ago - I woke up in a whole other world and met someone who had been time-looping there longer than me - orders of magnitude longer, from what I understood. She explained all of this to me. Apparently, we may occasionally wake up in one of those other universes - though we'll usually Loop through here."

"And where did she learn this knowledge?" the Arbiter asked.

"Apparently the message is mostly transmitted by word of mouth from Looper to Looper," Ariadne said. Looper; that must be the word for a person aware of the time loops. "But it started with the Admins."

"Admins?" the Arbiter asked.

"Administrators for the Multiverse," Socrates explained. "Apparently the Universe operates like a computer." Here Socrates started to also look confused. "The person I spoke to said that the comparison was more literal than metaphorical, and I'm not entirely sure I understand how that works... but the Admins are essentially Deity-esque figures."

"Gods from Norse, Greek, and other mythologies," Ariadne added. The Arbiter considered this for a moment, and he smiled.

"So does that mean Euthyphro is right after all? Morality comes from the gods?" the Arbiter asked in jest, arms spread wide in question. Socrates jerked back a little and shook his head.

"What - no!" Socrates crossed his arms and grimaced. "Arbiter, you know as well as I do how fallacious Euthyphro's argumentation was. Or, I guess, _is_ now that we're back in time again. These god-like figures may _exist_ , but they aren't the origin of morality. And I'm not even sure if they're strictly deities rather than... significantly higher order beings."

"Socrates, that is essentially what a deity _is_ ," the Arbiter said with a tinge of exasperation. "A being with ability and understanding far beyond that of mortals."

"Right, right," Socrates said, still grimacing. "I meant that I don't buy that they're like - I don't think that they deserve worship, I mean. They don't ask for it, anyway. I think."

He shook his head of that train of thought. "Anyway. On the subject of the Admins, the Norse world tree myth is true too."

"You mean Yggdrasil?" the Arbiter asked.

"Yeah," Ariadne answered. "Each universe is supposed to be a Branch on the tree. Normally, these branches would just grow forward in time, but something happened to Yggdrasil."

"'Something'?" the Arbiter asked.

"Apparently it was so bad all record or memory of what 'it' even is was wiped from existence," Ariadne explained with a shrug. "But it messed up the tree so badly that it has to put Branches in these time loops to stabilize itself. And apparently having a person who's aware of the time loop also helps stabilize it - or something."

"That's supposed to be me," Socrates said. "I'm apparently called the 'Anchor' of the Loop." He shrugged. "And you two being aware is sort of a... side effect? While _I'll_ almost always be aware, sometimes you two might be 'Unawake' - you won't have your memories of the time loops, though they'll come back next time you're 'Awake.' I think?"

"My dad didn't exactly have the best teacher for this stuff," Ariadne said with a shrug. "The short of it is that time is looping because the multiverse broke, and the gods are doing their best to fix it, though it's slow going. Without time looping, all of reality would just sort of _stop_."

The Arbiter nodded. The Joneses weren't adding anything, so it sounded like this was effectively everything they felt was most important for him to know.

It was, bluntly put, _fantastical_. To be fair, he _was_ a mystic being with otherworldly power who oversaw a metaphysical realm of the afterlife. But that did not mean _anything_ was plausible.

And yet...

The Arbiter shook his head. It was not like Socrates to try to jest with him. He could see it in Ariadne - though it was still _highly_ unlikely - but it was impossible with Socrates. He was too... rigid? No, that wasn't it.

Socrates's sense of humor only understood terrible dad jokes. Something like this wouldn't seem funny to him.

So if this wasn't supposed to be a joke... then it was true? The Arbiter scoffed at his own reasoning. This was aburd! Occam's razor dictated that Socrates's explanation was better off rejected; while its falsehood assumed Socrates was speaking untruths for some reason, it was better than assuming a whole multiverse of madness. Though it did leave the Arbiter without a reason for everyone else's unusual behavior... which meant there was _more_ assuming even with Socrates's explanation rejected.

Still... the Arbiter could not help but think that Occam's razor would still _slightly_ favor discrediting Socrates... though the Arbiter wasn't sure.

Then again...

The Arbiter frowned. "This is very... well, all I can really say at this time is that it is interesting," the Arbiter said.

"You... don't believe me?" Socrates said with a wilt in his frame. However, the Arbiter shook his head.

"I did not mean quite that," the Arbiter said. "Only that I cannot be certain. I wish to invoke Adler's razor in this case."

"Adler's razor?" Ariadne parroted. "What's that?"

"It's also known as Newton's flaming laser sword," Socrates explained, and at that name Ariadne's eyes lit up with recognition while the Arbiter huffed in disappointment.

"Oh! If something can't be settled through experimentation or observation, it's not worth debating?"

"That's the one," Socrates confirmed.

"And that is precisely the razor I wish to invoke," the Arbiter continued. "It is impossible for us to settle this matter with nothing but testimony, so I will not dispute it, though you must understand if I cannot quite find myself believing it either."

"Hm... Wait, but I _can_ settle this through observation!" Socrates declared, and with a flick of his wrist he pulled a newspaper out from nowhere.

"Wait, what?!" The Arbiter started at the sight, but then calmed and shook his head. "You have demonstrated that you are capable of either skilled illusions or literal magic, Socrates," the Arbiter said. "While interesting and helpful to your case, it does not quite settle the matter."

"Actually, Arbiter, that isn't all," Socrates said. "Yes, my ability to pull objects from thin air is meant to be supporting evidence for what I am proposing. However, it's not my _only_ evidence.

"What I used was a Subspace Pocket," Socrates said, and he demonstrated again by pulling a can labelled "Deer Repellent" from nowhere. "It's a technique I was taught that allows me to retain objects between the different time loops."

"In violation of the Law of Conservation of Matter?" the Arbiter asked.

"Um... yes?" Socrates said, blanching. "Hey, I'm a philosopher, not a physicist with an advanced degree in multiversal quantum mechanics!"

"Very well," the Arbiter said, and he nodded. Socrates shrugged off his nerves and continued.

"Using the Subspace Pocket I brought this copy of the _L.A. Times_ with me from the other universe," Socrates said, and he handed the newspaper to the Arbiter. "Look at the date."

The Arbiter glanced near the top. "Hm. 2026."

"The other universe is similar to ours, but there are a few key differences," Socrates said. "One is that it's slightly ahead of us on the calendar. Another - well, you can see the story on the front page yourself." The Arbiter did so.

And he couldn't stop his face from cracking into a smile. "You were an attorney?"

"Not a very good one, eheheh..." Socrates said. The Arbiter shook his head, barely holding in his laughter.

"Worse still, you defended an _orca_?"

"It's a weird universe, okay?" Socrates said. The Arbiter just shook his head and glanced through the paper some more.

"It is certainly thorough," the Arbiter said. "Which is to your case's credit." The Arbiter considered this momentarily, but he sighed. "However, it does not overcome the absurdity of the original premise." Socrates seemed to be about to reach into that nowhere again, but the Arbiter raised a hand. "Show me no more. Even photos can be doctored, and no one present has the skills or equipment necessary to prove that any evidence wasn't forged." Ariadne snickered a bit, but the Arbiter carried on. "I truly mean no offense, Great Thinker Socrates. My respect for you as a philosopher and as a person is not diminished. However, if the universe truly _is_ broken, your own understandings may be skewed. I shall have to wait and see for myself."

"I understand, Arbiter," Socrates said. "It's all a lot to believe without seeing it."

"If what you say is true, eventually I may wake up in another one of these 'Branches,' as you and Miss Jones said. That shall be the observation necessary to overcome Adler's razor."

"You mean Newton's flaming laser sword?" Ariadne interjected with a smirk.

"Yes... that." The Arbiter sighed. He did not like that Mike Adler had coined such an absurd turn of phrase (Ariadne loved it).

"However!" the Arbiter said. Socrates looked up, apparently shaken out of some trance of thought. "Even if I cannot come to a conclusion about whether or not what you say reflects reality, that does not mean we cannot discuss the ramifications of it."

"Oh?" Socrates sounded intrigued, and the Arbiter smiled. He was still the same Great Thinker, unable to withhold the curiosity regarding philosophy that he had developed in the Intelligible Realm not so long ago.

"If what you say is true, Socrates, then there are some existential questions we need to wrestle with," the Arbiter said. "With such a divine explanation for the present contortion of spaceand time, I can only assume that asking what 'happens' to us at the 'end' of a cycle is nearly meaningless -"

Socrates mouthed a silent "thank you" that he wouldn't have to repeat that discussion _again_.

"- and that whatever composes our essences simply carries over. Is that accurate?"

"More or less," Socrates said. "Souls, essences, intelligences, whatever you want to call them, they're pretty much a constant, I think." The Arbiter nodded.

"Interesting." The Arbiter stroked his beard, and after a moment he smiled. "To clarify: at the start of a time loop, any action taken during the previous iteration is wiped from existence?"

"I guess so," Ariadne answered. "There are only memories and whatever you take in a Subspace Pocket."

"We'll have to teach you how to do that later," Socrates commented. If it was all true, the Arbiter supposed that it would be a nifty skill to have. "Though I was told that the cycle doesn't always start the same."

"It doesn't?" the Arbiter asked, surprised.

"Apparently not," Socrates said. "I haven't seen anything like it, but apparently it's possible to land in what's called a 'Variant' - it's the same universe, but... different."

"Like at the start of a Loop, my dad could be _Hypatia_ Jones instead," Ariadne elaborated.

"Or my whole family could be into accounting instead of philosophy," Socrates added.

"Eeugh!" Ariadne shuddered, and Socrates rolled his eyes. "It doesn't happen often, but sometimes Yggdrasil does something quirky like that. Apparently. I haven't seen it before myself."

"But to keep things simple for right now," Ariadne said. "It is true that the start of a Loop is a _reset_. Actions do _not_ carry over except in memory and what's in a Subspace Pocket."

The Arbiter's smile returned and he crossed his arms. "In that case, we have a very interesting question on our hands.

 _"Is the act of taking a life still immoral when not externally justified?"_

Socrates started at the question. He... didn't expect that. "Why... why do you ask?"

The Arbiter shrugged. "As I cannot take a life - being constrained to this metaphysical existence - I feel that it would not be too discomfiting for me to ask," he said. "And the question _must_ be asked, for the very premise on which murder is considered immoral has been shaken if not eliminated."

"While I'm a little nervous about this subject matter," Socrates admitted while stroking his chin. "I can't help but be curious." He straightened up and readied himself. "I'm willing to listen."

The Arbiter grinned. This would be interesting to say the least.

[Intense Argument]

"At its most fundamental level, my case rests on the absence of consequences in a relatively infinite cycle of time 'Loops,'" the Arbiter began. "If Alice kills Bob but Bob is restored to life, how can any harm have been done? Furthermore, if Alice kills Bob, but Bob is restored to life with no memory of the incident and no negative fallout from the event, how can any harm have been done?"

"A consequentialist perspective?" Socrates asked to clarify.

"Of course," the Arbiter answered.

"But what about -"

"I will preempt your obvious response," the Arbiter said, looking pleased with himself. "You cannot disregard consequentialism simply because it 'inevitably leads to atrocities.' First, it cannot 'inevitably' lead to atrocities, as atrocities are a negative consequence. Accurate consequentialism would avoid atrocities as being an unacceptable consequence of action.

"Furthermore, it is impossible to disregard consequentialism in the first place, as it is the basis of all morality. You yourself proved to Immanuel Kant when you were first here that his own intentionalist philosophy was inextricably bound to a consequentialist origin. Discussion of duty-based morality is derived from certain undesirable consequences - such as the rendering of the meaning of truth meaningless."

"But how can we possibly look to consequentialism when it can be difficult or impossible to foresee the future impacts of present action?" Socrates challenged. "Consequentialism ignores the reality of existence, which is that we can't _know_ what consequences there will be.

"While that may be true in some cases of highly complicated action, such as that undertaken by a political entity, in our specific thought experiment it is perfectly applicable to reality," the Arbiter responded. "If time is looping in a cycle where the previous is erased from existence, when Alice kills Bob, Bob is dead until the cycle restarts. Bob is then alive and has no memory of the incident. Those are the consequences which are hardly consequences at all."

Socrates frowned and stroked his chin. "What if it's the final iteration, and Yggdrasil is finally fixed?" he asked.

"You and Miss Jones explained that such wouldn't happen for eons," the Arbiter answered. "That possibility is neither here nor there."

"Hm..." Socrates frowned, but then broke into a chuckle. "Yeah, that's everything I was going to say about consequentialism. I can see why you're the Arbiter, Great Thinker Socrates. Uh, the First."

"Thank you," the Arbiter said, smiling. "But by the lack of distress on your face I can already tell you've thought of something."

"Yep," Socrates said with a nod. "I'm afraid that your case is, while not nonsense, still not up to snuff."

[Nonsense!]

"While I definitely disagree with you on some of your defenses for consequentialism, it doesn't really matter. I can dismantle your argument without abandoning the consequentialist premise."

"Really?" Now the Arbiter was intrigued.

"It's important to first ask ourselves why killing is wrong," Socrates explained. "What is the consequence if Alice kills Bob?"

"Under ordinary circumstances, Bob is dead and remains dead," the Arbiter said.

"But why is that a bad consequence?" Socrates asked rhetorically, stroking his chin in thought. "The moral wrong of this consequence comes down to the _value of life itself_.

"When a person is dead, they cannot be alive, and if they can't be alive they can't do things or make choices or decisions. The value of life is an opportunity to make choices and to have experiences."

"So... Euthyphro was right?" the Arbiter asked with a chuckle.

"...Only about how life was about having experiences," Socrates said. "And when you are dead, you cannot gain experience. Sure, while dead we can talk philosophy and learn, but it doesn't change the fact that once dead a person - typically - can't use that experience in life. Killing a person robs someone of those opportunities. Because they're dead."

"This sounds very cyclical, Socrates," the Arbiter interrupted. "And besides, it ignores the matter at hand. With time cycling, this consequence is wiped from existence. Bob is restored to life and can have experiences again."

"Be that as it may, his life from the previous cycle was still interrupted," Socrates asserted. "He still lost the opportunity to have life experiences in _that_ life, and _that_ consequences can't be erased."

"But Bob wouldn't even remember his past life in our thought experiment," the Arbiter replied. "How can that count as a consequence?"

"If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Socrates asked.

"No," the Arbiter bluntly said.

"What?!" Socrates wasn't quite expecting _that_. "You're not trying to assert that it doesn't exist without observation, are you?"

"Of course not," the Arbiter reassured him. "Only that sound is the mental perception and interpretation of vibrations in the air."

Socrates crossed his arms and frowned at the Arbiter, who just grinned. "I didn't take you for a pedantic."

"It was worth it to see the look on your face," the Arbiter said.

"Or for a joker."

"Only on occasion," the Arbiter said. Socrates shook his head and continued.

"But we agree that the tree does exist? And that vibrations in the air were created?" Socrates asked.

"Certainly," the Arbiter said. "To assume otherwise without evidence would go against Occam's razor, and that has served me well enough so far."

Now it was Socrates's turn to smile. "Is that so? Well, Arbiter, I'd say this is game, set, and match."

The Arbiter blinked. "How do you mean?"

"Even if Bob cannot remember the consequence, _it still happened_!" Socrates declared proudly. "You cannot ignore that even with time looping, the consequence still occurred - the act of murder still had a negative consequence!

"Furthermore, it was _you_ who said that 'accurate consequentialism' would avoid atrocities," Socrates said, holding a hand palm up as though gesturing to the Arbiter's own words. "So even under your consequentialist premise, murder _must_ be wrong, as otherwise you would be justifying an act that leads to a negative consequence!

"So, despite all the 'contortions of space and time' taking place, we can rest easy knowing that _murder is wrong!_ "

The Arbiter grinned even wider now, and he went so far as to clap his hands several times in applause. "A good show, Great Thinker Socrates! You are truly worthy of having me as a namesake!"

"You're... happy?" Ariadne asked, sounding confused.

"Of course!" the Arbiter said with a chuckle. "It's a relief to know that killing people would still be wrong."

Socrates frowned and crossed his arms. "But you were the one who..." He trailed off.

The Arbiter waved a hand dismissively. "Only for curiosity's sake," he insisted. "And my curiosity is now satisfied! I devised that argument rather quickly and haphazardly anyway, so it's only natural that you were able to find a flaw in it so easily."

"Hey, let's not trivialize my success!" Socrates said with a chuckle, and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I'd say being able to philosophize under such unusual circumstances is impressive, right?"

"Indeed," the Arbiter assented. "But I suppose you two will want to be going?" Socrates and Ariadne nodded, though Socrates noticed that the Arbiter's face was twitching into a crooked smile. "Of course, by your own logic, Socrates, I have already granted the wish you won in our wager in a previous cycle."

Socrates blanched and swallowed hard. Whoops...

The Arbiter examined Socrates's face for a moment, but soon he split into another fit of laughter. "Worry not! I won't be a poor sport about it!" He gestured to the air, and an open stone arch appeared from nowhere, harsh white light pouring out of it. To Socrates he said, "You are not the only one who can do it." Socrates only chuckled and made his way through the door and out of the Intelligible Realm in a relative hurry. Ariadne followed him and waved goodbye.

"Thanks!" she said, smiling, and the Arbiter suspected she was just as amused as he. When she was through as well, he waved and the door vanished. He chuckled again at the thought of Socrates's expressions and shook his head. Great Thinker though he was, Socrates Jones still couldn't consistently summon poise.

Now then. The Arbiter huffed a bit and straightened himself a little. He had to figure out a way to explain this to everyone else.

Then again, he was the Arbiter. He didn't have to explain himself.

* * *

3.4

 **(The Growing Body of Evidence)**

"So you see, Bentham, is not the risk of the 'gaze of the guard' being internalized throughout _all_ society not a flaw of the Panoptica, and, in fact, prisons in general?"

"Hm... I really never foresaw such an evolution of society. If it is as you say, Foucault, then my idea may have been more insidious than I thought."

"Ah, don't blame yourself, Bentham. As you said, you didn't foresee this."

The Arbiter smiled gently as he sat with Jeremy Bentham and Michel Foucault - two deceased philosophers who were separated by centuries in life but could meet in death in the Intelligible Realm - while they calmly chatted about the nature of discipline and imprisonment. The Arbiter added, "That is true. And to be fair to you, Bentham, your proposal at least sought to address the injustices of discipline of the body."

Yes, it was a fine day in the Intelligible Realm. The weather was nonexistent, the time of day was indiscernible, and all the niceties of life were denied them, but so long as the Arbiter could philosophize with the other great thinkers of the world who had passed on, all would be well.

At least, he _hoped_ it would be. Although the Arbiter remained cool and collected on the outside, internally he was a bit concerned. It had been a couple of years since the Joneses had reappeared in the Intelligible Realm, claiming a form of time travel they called "Looping" had taken place. At that time, the Arbiter had requested that he not be asked to commit to a stance on whether or not he believed them, since there was so little empirical evidence to go on. However, that did not mean he had forgotten the Joneses' warning that time would be turned back a couple years after they left the Intelligible Realm. Hopefully, the "Looping" they spoke of was at an end, but if not...

But that was neither here nor there, the Arbiter supposed. He nodded as Bentham described the utilitarian framework that led him to design the Panoptica, and he briefly interjected to comment, "There is very much a certain charm to the setup's efficiency, which I think can be acknowledged by even those -"

"..who do not hold utilitari - Bentham, Foucau -? ...Ah." The Arbiter suddenly found himself in mid-stride, going for a stroll elsewhere in the Intelligible Realm; Bentham and Foucault were not nowhere to be seen. "It would seem," he said aloud. "That the Joneses may be on to something."

"Dad, maybe you should just quit it with the animal repellants," Ariadne Jones said as she and Socrates leisurely strolled through the Intelligible Realm. They had decided to evade the crowd of dead philosophers who had dragged Socrates to the Arbiter in Baseline (on account of mistaking him for the original great thinker Socrates because of the strange name) this cycle - or "Loop" - in favor of having a chance to stroll and chat together. While the mob was definitely useful for helping them find the Arbiter quickly - which was useful sometimes when they didn't feel like hanging around in the Intelligible Realm for too long - it was a rough experience, and Socrates was glad to skip it.

So while other philosophers bantered and debated with each other about the meanings of the universe, the Joneses idly chatted about the one constant challenge in their lives: the fateful car accident that brought them to the Intelligible Realm, time and time again.

"I mean, we ended up running into an _octopus_ this time," Ariadne continued. "And I don't even understand how that made us crash! Octopi don't even have skeletons!"

"You might be right, Ari," Socrates conceded, and he rubbed the back of head with a nervous chuckle. "It looks like the universe just _really_ wants us to end up in the Intelligible Realm every Loop, huh?"

"Yeah... though I _really_ wonder _why_..." Ariadne said, cradling the side of her head as if it ached. At that moment, however, she perked up and pointed toward the distance. "Hey, there's the Arbiter. Do you think he might be awake?"

"We'd better check," Sorcates said, and with that they closed the distance, strolling up to the Arbiter as Socrates waved. "Hey, Arbiter!" he said, and the Arbiter waved back. "Uh -" Socrates paused, trying to remember what it was that Maya told him he was supposed to say in that Fused Loop he had so many cycles ago. "Oh! Feeling 'loopy?'"

"Um..." the Arbiter quirked an eyebrow, not recognizing the phrase. "...Nooo...?"

"Ah," Socrates nodded, but then quickly did a double take. "Wait, no! I forgot to tell you what that means! I mean - ah, shoot, I really hope you remember us, or this will be _really_ hard to explain..."

For just a second, the Arbiter considered pretending he didn't, just to see Socrates's reaction; if he knew the philosopher well enough from their brief time spent together, the expression he made would be a memory for the ages.

But alas, he couldn't be _quite_ that cruel. The Arbiter shook his head and chuckled. "Worry not, Socrates," he said. "I remember you, as well as our discussion about your unusual experiences. It seems that the repetition of the cyclic temporal distortions you spoke of are continuing to affect me, and I have remained aware of them."

"So..." Socrates said, looking hopeful. "You believe everything I said now?"

"Haha!" The Arbiter couldn't help but laugh at how desperate Socrates looked, though he could tell it didn't matter to the man _quite_ that much. "No."

"Dang," Socrates said, now sulking a bit.

"I always believed your story about the reiteration of the mechanics and passage of time," the Arbiter said.

"The 'Looping,'" Ariadne added, and the Arbiter nodded.

"Yes, yes, the 'Looping,'" he repeated, making a mental note to try and remember the term - it was far more concise, after all. "But your reports of other universes remains relatively unproven. I still have only your word, Socrates, Ariadne, and while I trust the both of you, I cannot trust your senses."

"...I guess that's fair," Ariadne said, though she seemed disappointed as well. "What was it like reliving the past for you?"

"Rather dull, to be honest," the Arbiter said. "It was highly frustrating for everyone else to not remember the discussions we'd had. At first I tried to retread old ground to get other philosophers up to speed with the discourse we'd had, but it was boring and unfulfilling work, so I simply moved on to new discussions with individuals I had not had a chance to talk to for many years."

"Neat!" Ariadne said, smiling at the thought. "I guess having all the time in the world must be nice."

"Hm?" At this, the Arbiter shook his head gravely. "Oh, not at all."

"No?" Ariadne blinked at the statement.

"No... that makes sense," Socrates said as he stroked his chin. "Arbiter, I think I understand what you've realized: there's a finite number of philosophers residing in the Intelligible Realm. You're worried that over a nearly infinite span of time, you'll eventually run out of conversations and discussions to have and waste with boredom."

"Precisely, Socrates," the Arbiter agreed with a firm nod. "And while you may face similar conundrums, you at least have more means of spending your time. The two of your have an entire planet to spend time on, in addition to all the physical pastimes available to you. However, I have but discourse alone."

"Huh," Ariadne said, now looking a bit distressed. "I see why you'd be worried..."

"It's in the back of my mind," the Arbiter said. "However, as Socrates mentioned last cycle, I may not always be aware of the Looping, and there _are_ the 'Variants' he mentioned." The Arbiter shrugged. "While it is not a guaranteed solution, it suggests my plight may not be as urgent as I fear."

"Glad to hear you've been able to find at least some comfort in this craziness," Socrates said with a smile. After a pause, he crossed his arms and his gaze softened a bit as his expression turned serious. "But Arbiter, no matter what, you'll probably have me around. If you ever feel bored out of your skull, feel free to let me know and we can spend some time talking and catching up."

The Arbiter fell silent, his face still, and his mask obscuring his reaction. Eventually, he said, "Thank you, Socrates. That's very generous of you."

"You're welcome, Great Thinker Socrates. We're stuck in this together, after all, right?" Socrates Jones said with a small smile and a chuckle, and the Arbiter couldn't quite help but join him

"Haha, indeed! In fact, if you two have a moment, I was hoping to hear your thoughts on Bentham's Panoptica and Foucault's writings on discipline..."

And as they whiled away a few hours talking about the meaning and relevance of discipline within modern society and culture (Socrates providing some unique insights apparently derived from this "other Branch"), the three thinkers relaxed, their minds, momentarily at least, drawn away from the madness of the Loops.

So long as they could talk like this every now and again, the Arbiter was sure he would be fine.

"Say, Arbiter?" Socrates stopped just short of stepping through the gate to the world of the living, a question suddenly on his mind. "When I first told you I was repeating time - before you were aware of it - you said that you could detect something metaphysically anomalous about me."

"Ah, I mentioned that?" the Arbiter said, nodding. "There is indeed an aura to that effect surrounding yourself and your daughter. It is part of why I trust your account regarding the repetition of time."

"But the whole Yggdrasil thing -"

"Still presently unconfirmable," the Arbiter said, as blunt as ever.

"Alright, alright," Socrates said as he continued to step through. "See you later, maybe."

"We shall see, Socrates." The Arbiter raised a hand, ready to close the gate -

"OH, WAIT!" Socrates stopped just short of passing through and grabbed the Arbiter's hand, stopping him from shutting the metaphysical gate. "I almost forgot to tell you again!"

"Tell me what?" the Arbiter asked after sighing.

"I might ask you if you're 'feeling loopy,'" Socrates explained. "That means I'm Awake, and I'm trying to figure out if you are, too. So if you are, just say that you're Awake."

The Arbiter frowned at these instructions, and he said, "I can't help but feel as though that conversation would sound bizarrely suspicious to anyone watching who was not aware of the time loop."

"Well..." Socrates sighed as he released his grip. "I mean... yeah. But what else do we do?"

"Hm... very well," the Arbiter said. "Now then, through the gate to the world of the living you go, Socrates."

"Will do."

"Dangit, I should've taught him the Ping!" Socrates groaned as he came to consciousness, hooked up to machines and IVs in a hospital bed.

"Mr. Jones, you're awake!" A nurse rushed over, calling out requests to her colleagues and informing them of the situation. "What are you talking about?"

"...Nothing, just a weird dream," Socrates lied. Time to relive the painful recovery again...

* * *

3.1 - Socrates has better things to do than be a lawyer. And he probably doesn't become a piano player at the Borchst Bowl Club.

3.2 - Velocius the Sith raptor is a recurring character from the Star Wars Loops.

3.3 - And now the Arbiter is awake for more philosophizing shenanigans. The bracketed words are references to the game's soundtrack and are used as visual and textual transitions into different tones of the discussion.

3.4 - And the Arbiter is still not yet convinced about the multiverse. I thought it'd be a bit different to have a Looper who got the whole Groundhog Day thing but didn't buy the multiverse part.

* * *

And unless I've missed anything, this is it. There's no more snippets written. There _could_ be more in the future, but as of now there aren't any.


End file.
